


On The Road Suite: 11 Drabbles for the Random Prompt Table

by rainpuddle13



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:55:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of eleven drabbles set in and around the time of filming <i>On the Road</i> based on a random table prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. {bath}

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also have no claims on Robert Pattinson, Kristen Stewart, or anyone associated with them. This is a work of fiction.

“Kitten, you’ve got a phone call,” Rob called through the bathroom door of the rented house they were currently sharing in Los Angeles. It was modern and sleek, and kind of ugly in her opinion, but she really did love the giant stand alone tub with the amazing view of the reservoir in late spring. Who knew she had more traditional tastes, but then again, it could be the influence of the man she’d fallen in love with not so long ago.  
  
“I’ll take it, please.” She held her hand out for her Blackberry that she’d left in his care while she soaked; she’d been expecting a few work related phone calls so she wasn’t annoyed that her lazy Saturday afternoon was being interrupted.  
  
She could barely get a word in edgewise after answering the call, smiling widely as Walter Salles’ heavy accent couldn’t mask the excitement and joy of the news he was relaying after nearly two years of false starts. She was finally getting the chance to play a character that she’d been afraid she’d outgrow before the financing could be pulled together.  
  
“Good news?” her boyfriend asked, taking the phone back from her after she’d rang off with promises to make sure Ruth cleared her schedule for late summer. Summit could bite her ass for all she cared.  
  
“The best!” she squealed, not caring that she was splashing soapy bathwater on the slate floor. “I’m going _On the Road_!”


	2. {sunglasses}

Kristen was determined to play it cool on the set once she got to Montreal. She was youngest in the cast, and also the most famous. It was annoying that although she was a supporting character, it felt like she had the most to prove. She didn’t want to be Bella forever, damnit. The Runaways was supposed to have accomplished that for her, but thanks to the distributor imploding just as the film was released, it didn’t happen.

So there she was standing off to the side of the bustling set in Montreal that was doubling for New York City on the second day of filming watching as Garrett and Sam played their alter-egos to perfection for the cameras. The dowdy costume was hot and uncomfortable, but at least the bobby socks and saddle shoes were okay for standing around in for hours on end.

After a while, she settled in her chair with a bottle of water to sip on, figuring there was no point in having aching feet. She pushed Rob’s black Ray-Bans atop her head, using the iconic sunglasses as a makeshift headband to hold back her new caramel colored locks from her face.

“You do know Ray-Bans are not authentic before 1952,” came a snooty voice, yet familiar voice from just behind her, “besides, they’re Patty’s and therefore famous and would require their own agent, contract and proper credit in the film, possibly a billing above you.”

“Tommy?” she squealed, earning herself a stern look from the director for the outburst. “What are you doing here?”

“Tommy?” the tall, dark haired best mate to her boyfriend replied, one eyebrow arched behind his own black Wayfarers. “I don’t know any Tommys, love. My name’s Carlo Marx.”


	3. {jeans}

There were lots of things he loved about being a movie set, but the waiting was the one thing that got on his last nerve, especially when he didn’t have his Kindle on him to occupy his time. It was even worse having to wait while his girlfriend endured a costume fitting.

He pulled the packet of Camels from his jacket pocket and lit a fag as he paced in front of Kris’ trailer, showing of his Beastie Boy’s shirt to the photographers he knew were lurking in the bushes. Fuck them all. He didn’t even feel bad when he ratted them out to security when hit the craft tent for a drink. He’d be damned if he’d let them capture a picture him and Kristen together.

“Baby?” The sound of Kris’ voice pulled him from his angry musing. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” he paused, stomach growling in answer to the question, “I am.”

“Wanna take me to lunch?”

“Sure.”

Kristen stepped out of the trailer wearing deep blue skinny jeans and the grey t-shirt he wore the previous day knotted at her waist. The way the denim clung to the soft curves of her tiny frame was positively indecent and should be made illegal posthaste because now his jeans were uncomfortably tight.

“Awwah, baby,” she purred, leaning into him from the bottom step, trusting him to support her slight weight and he took advantage by running his hands fondly over her arse. “You know just how to make a girl feel beautiful.”

He blinked down into the deep green eyes of the love of his life. “I do?”

“Yup,” she said, tightening her fingers in his t-shirt and batting her eyes up at him, “and I think I’ve changed my mind about lunch.”

“Oh?”

“I think I’d rather stay in.”


	4. {tree}

“God you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured softly, leaning in to nuzzle Kristen’s soft cheek. The pink blouse and brown mid-calf A-line skirt were far sexier on his girlfriend than he ever imagined, and he was beginning to think she looked amazing in period clothing.

Her cheeks turned a soft petal pink as she smiled up at him, taking the edge off her admonishment, “Robbie! Not here!”

“Why not?” He nosed her hair gently, inhaling the soft, clean scent of her shampoo, smiling at the little shiver that passed through her. “I want everyone to know how much I love you.”

Feebly she attempted to push him away, but there was no true effort behind it. “I think they already know.”

“Then they won’t be bothered then when I kiss you.”

Word had gotten back to them through Tom (who had delighted much in relaying the salacious bit of gossip) that everyone in the craft services tent was treated to the sounds of their lunch time activities. He knew she’d been embarrassed, but he couldn’t be arsed enough to care. If people couldn’t see what was right before their eyes, then that was their problem.

The afternoon was spent being young and happy and in love, hanging out on a movie set with one of their best friends and people who accepted them as a them without any fanfare. It was perfect, and Rob didn’t think life could get any better, well, maybe if was he in front of the camera too…

So caught up in their own little world, no one noticed the photographer with a long-range lens zeroing in on them through the trees surrounding the set.


	5. {trainers}

“Can you get my shoes, baby?” She was hurrying around her messy hotel room, stuffing her belongings haphazardly in her big black suitcase. Customs was gonna love her.

“Kristen, Rob! Ten minutes!” John shouted through the door, doing what he did best – keeping her life running smoothly so she didn’t have to worry about the fine details.

“Okay!” she responded absently, nostrils flaring a bit in irritation at her boyfriend. He’d just presented her Sambas to her to wear with a smirk. He had a matching pair on his feet. “Uh, no!”

Rob looked surprised at her refusal. “Why not?”

Intellectually she knew she was being irritable and bitchy, and she should’ve been more specific in her request, but good God damn. “Because I don’t want to be all cute and matchy-matchy with my boyfriend, that’s why.”

“Oh.” His face fell and it nearly broke her heart.

It wasn’t his fault some bastard had stalked them all over Montreal and had managed to take a few grainy pictures from a great distance in the dark of them sharing a cuddle and kiss and now those pictures were being splashed all over the internet. The kiss-heard-around-the-world or some bullshit as it was now being called.

She didn’t hesitate to step in front of him, fisting her hands in his dingy vintage Bob Marley t-shirt so she could pull him down for a quick kiss. “I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“Shhh, I know, kitten,” he said softly, pressing a tender kiss her forehead, the feel of his stubble causing her to smile. “I’m sorry too. I’ll get your Chucks.”


	6. {phone call}

“I want to kiss you on all your sweet little pink parts,” her boyfriend was telling her over the phone.

Kristen sighed. “I want that too, so fucking much.”

“Are you touching yourself?” His voice had dropped to low and husky, making moisture pool in her aching core.

“Yes.” Little fingers slipped under the elastic of her knickers, sliding through her slick folds to worry the little bundle of nerves that made her tingle all over. She carefully positioned the phone between her head and shoulder so she use her other hand to tweak her hardened nipples.

“I want to hear you come, Kristen,” he panted. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

She bit at her bottom lip, her hips starting to rock, warmth radiating from her center. “Ohh, uhm, I’m playing with my clit,” she said, breathlessly. “I’m imagining your long fingers teasing me, sliding into me, trying to touch my spot.”

“Don’t imagine, kitten.”

“It won’t be the same,” she whined a little, sliding two of her much smaller fingers deep into her wet heat.

“Just do it,” he commanded, his voice tight. “Rub your thumb over your clit as you slide your fingers in and out.”

“Oh God.”

“That’s it, Kristen, come for me.”

Closing her eyes, she imaged Rob, all long and beautiful, kissing her from head to toe, making her giggle when he brushed his whiskers over the soft skin of her belly, using his long fingers to bring her just to the edge before finally covering her with his warm weight and sliding deep inside of her.

“Yes!” she cried, light exploding behind her eyes as her body tensed and then let go with welcomed release. “Yes, Robbie, oh God yes!”

She repositioned the phone against her ear just in time to hear her boyfriend’s own grunt of satisfaction.


	7. {ball cap}

The plan had come to her from nowhere while they were sitting in Mother’s on Poydras just down the street from their hotel on a sultry New Orleans evening in early September. She’d been sitting there watching Rob wolf down his soft shell crab po’boy while she worked through her seafood etouffee. Their best mate sat across from them wearing his stupid and disgusting Nike hat while plowing through half a fried chicken platter. She giggled at the face Tom made when he tried the turnip greens for the first time.

Kristen leaned over to Rob, dropping her voice low under the din of the early evening dinner crowd, “When we leave here, we should walk down to Woldenberg Park and then we should steal that God awful hat and throw it into the canal!”

“I dunno,” he managed after swallowing a bite of crab. “Seems risky.”

“He might go in the water after it and I’m not too sure about his swimming abilities. His mum would kill me if I didn’t return him in one piece.”

“We could burn it.”

“Aren’t there laws against public burnings?”

“You’re no fun! We could give it to a homeless person.”

“Kristen, please.”

Tom looked up just as he set a thoroughly cleaned leg bone down on his plate, blue eyes shrewdly accessing the situation as he lifted battered cap off his head, scratching his head before resettling it down low over his forehead. “Oi, you two, whatever it is you’re plotting, you can stop it right now because I’m on to you.”


	8. {warmth}

It was still dark in the hotel room when something startled Kristen awake. She laid curled on her side listening to the comforting sounds of her bedmate’s soft snoring behind her, willing herself to go back to sleep. The clock on the bedside table read 3:14am and she had a 5:30am call time, an attempt by the film crew to avoid the worst of the humid daytime heat.

Her boyfriend had arrived in town two days prior with Tom and Sam in tow after a week long road trip. To say it was relief that they’d arrived in one piece was an understatement, but she was ever glad they were here now. She’d been lonely for weeks, such is the life of an actor, and she’d missed her British boys terribly.

Pulling her cold feet under the thick hotel duvet, she wiggled around until she could press her small frame against the side of her boyfriend, their bodies fitting together like two matching pieces of a puzzle. His snoring stopped when she rested her hand on his lower belly.

“Kris?” he whispered sleepily.

She pressed a kiss to his chest just above his steadily beating heart. “I’m all right, go back to sleep.”

“Just makin’ sure.” He brushed a kiss atop her messy bedhead, some of her hair getting caught in his beard, and pulled her closer against his side, his large hand draped mostly on her bare hip. The soft snoring resumed almost immediately.

Sleep came easily with the knowledge that she had all the love and warmth she ever needed was right there beside her in bed in the form of a tall, sweet, funny and handsome British boy named Rob.


	9. {beard}

“I’m really excited about the craft bazaar,” Kristen said excitedly as she poured over a guide to the French Market the concierge at the hotel kindly had printed for her earlier that morning. “I think I can pick up a lot of gifts for the family there.”

“I’m sure you can. We just might need to see about hiring a pack mule to carry it all though.” Rob smiled and rubbed a hand over his bearded lower face, the powdered sugar that had collected there during their morning meal of dangerously delicious beignets and the most amazing café au laits at Café du Monde fell like snow onto his navy blue t-shirt.

“I don’t know how you can stand it in this heat,” she said, laughing at him.

It was just after 9am and the humidity was already oppressive. She’d prepared for a day of shopping at the by wearing cutoff shorts, a tank top and her favorite Keds. Her boyfriend, not so much. He already looked like he was about to wilt in his jeans, t-shirt and cotton plaid shirt.

He scratched his throat. “Stand what?”

“That beard.” She reached over to pluck a stray crumble of pastry that he’d missed from the full-on grizzly mountain man look he was sporting these days.

“I thought you liked it,” he said, the one brow quirked in query, “or was I mistaken last night?” He leaned in close, barely brushing his lips and soft whiskers against the shell of her ear, setting off a shiver of desire in her that only he could feel as increasingly erotic images of the previous evening flitted through her mind. “That’s what I thought.”


	10. {writer’s choice}

Tom laughed at her when she stumbled over a brick that had come up on the street, but she wasn’t at any danger of falling, not if the strong grip on her hand her boyfriend had was any indication.  
  
“You didn’t spill any of that Hurricane did you,” Sam inquired, dissolving into giggles. They were all a little drunk, and two of her three boys thought it’d be amusing to tour all of the strip clubs on Bourbon Street.   
  
“No,” Kristen huffed. She knew how to hold her liquor. Cam had made damn sure of that.  
  
“Good,” Tom said seriously, “because I want to see if we can get you drunk enough to get up on stage.”  
  
“Been there, done that, you tosser.” She took several gulps of the fruity alcoholic concoction in her giant plastic cup. “I know how to pole dance, and I don’t even have to be drunk to do it.”  
  
“It’s true, she does,” Sam chimed in, having seen her dancing in _Welcome to the Rileys_ already. “I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. She learnt for a movie, she did.”  
  
“Patty?” Tom turned to his best mate for confirmation. “Is it true?”  
  
Rob pulled Kristen protectively against his side, almost as if he trying to protect her from prying eyes. “Every word of it.”  
  
“Luckiest bastard alive,” he whined like a petulant child, leveling a dark glare at Rob, then Sam, “and just why hadn’t I been informed of this before now?”  
  
“Because, mate,” Sam laughed, slapping Tom on the back hard enough to cause some of his beer to slosh out of his up, “we knew you couldn’t handle it and Patty’d have to kill you.”  
  
“Damn right I would,” Rob said, kissing the top of Kris’ head, “because this is all mine.”


	11. {bonus drabble}

Kristen stretched her long limbs out, the hot, soapy water working its magic on her tired, aching muscles. She’d spent a long day filming at an old plantation house in the oppressive heat and humidity, take after take of scrubbing an old wooden floors and dirty children. The scene with Old Bull Lee and his sprogs had been emotionally draining.

A soft knock roused her from her dark musings. “Yes?”

“I got something for you, kitten,” her beautiful, lovely and wonderful boyfriend called through the bathroom door. “Can I come in?”

Slouching down until she was covered in bubbles up to her neck before she answered, “Sure.”

Rob entered and shut the door behind him quickly in case either of their two friends were lurking about. “I thought you could use this,” he said with a smile, holding a half-full glass of white wine with two strawberries in the bottom in front of her.

“You’re the best boyfriend, ever,” she gushed, sitting up to take the glass from him.

“Good to know,” he laughed and dropped a yellow rubber duck wearing a tassel bra into her bathwater.

Laughing, “Where on earth did you get that?”

“I have my ways,” he answered with a wry smile.

She took a sip of wine before settling back in the large tub, a contented smile on her face. “Would you care to join me?”

“I never thought you’d ask!” he responded, already toeing off his shoes and unbuttoning his jeans.


End file.
